Roshi's Challenge

“You want me to WHAT,” Bulma asked, surprise registering in her voice. “That's a ridiculous request, not to mention disgusting. Isn't there anything else you'd be willing to trade for? I can get you money.”

“Money,” the aging man named Roshi echoed. “I live by myself on an island. What use do I have for money?” He folded his thin arms across his chest.”If you want this old trinket, you'll have to do what I asked.”

“No. Way.” Bulma replied. She placed her hands on her hips and turned her nose toward the sky. “You'll have to ask for something else.”

“Then I guess you'll have to do without this little stone.” Roshi motioned for the giant sea turtle to follow him. “C'mon turtle, we're going home.”

“W-wait!” Bulma called. Her mind raced. She needed that Dragon Ball. Briefly, she considered telling Goku to take it from him, but the odd, tail-toting boy was off on his new Nimbus toy and nowhere in sight. Besides, something told Bulma that Goku would lose a fight to the wrinkled hermit. She tugged nervously on a strand of lavender hair. “Can't you just watch me do it on the ground?”

The old man turned toward her and looked at the sky. His right hand began stroking his beard as he considered her offer. For a few moments, the only sound was the ocean's melodic song. Bulma wished he'd hurry up and decide, her fingers were crossed so tightly they hurt.

Suddenly, his head snapped toward her and the sunlight reflected off his dark shades. “No,” he said. “If you want my stone, you'll have to do what I asked.” His lips curled into a lecherous smile. “You'll have to poop your panties.”

“I'm sorry, miss,” the turtle droned. “He's not usually this bad.”

“Quiet you,” the hermit snapped. “There's nothing to be sorry about. We're making a trade.” He moved closer to Bulma, the vulgar grin still splayed on his face. “We can wait if you don't need to go right now. Or, I've got some pretty strong laxatives back at the house. Heh-heh-heh.”

Bulma's right eyelid twitched in frustration. This pervert was of a different breed. She'd never met anyone who wanted to see her mess on herself. Once she wished for her perfect boyfriend, he wouldn't make such outrageous requests.

A resigned sigh passed her lips. Of course, she'd need that Dragon Ball to make her wish. “Alright,” she said weakly. “I'll do it.”

The old man's jaw dropped gleefully and he did an absurd dance. “So, how about those laxatives?”

“Don't push it,” Bulma snarled. “Besides, I've already gotta go.” It was true. In her rush to catch up to Goku earlier that morning, Bulma had neglected to take her ritual morning dump. The pain and fullness in her stomach were beginning to become difficult to bear and there was tremendous pressure on her anus. At least, she figured, she'd get some relief.

“How do you want me to do this,” she asked.

“Turn around and lift that nightshirt. I wanna see 'em fill!”
Bulma had figured as much. As she turned around, she bunched her heart speckled, pink pajamas up to the center of her belly. Her curvy bottom shivered in the chilly air and the blood rushed to her face. The only thing between the twisted old man and her bare butt was a pair of white, cotton panties. But, she was about to add something else.

“This good enough,” she asked.

“Yes, perfect! Do it, do it,” the old man pleaded.

Bulma drew in a steadying breath. “It'll be worth it in the end,” she murmured. Then she released the strangle hold she had on her sphincter and the load of waste she'd been carrying since the night before began to emerge.

It came slowly and stopped completely when it met resistance from her cotton panties. It was like her subconscious knew she wasn't on the toilet and it refused to let her crap herself. But Bulma wasn't about to let good judgment impede her quest for the Dragon Balls. She bent her knees to allow the mess better passage and began to strain.

“Nyg,” she groaned. She felt her cheeks part and a wide, thick log begin to push out of her. But the going was still extremely slow. She was uncomfortable and mildly constipated. She forgot about her spectators, forgot about the Dragon Balls. The only thing that mattered to Bulma at that moment was moving her bowels. She bore down again.

“Nyyyg.” The log progressed another inch and Bulma pushed again. Perhaps due to all the exertion, Bulma's bladder released. An ocean of yellow exploded from her urethra and soaked her undies. It fell like golden rain drops from her saturated panties and traced rivers down her pale legs. The sand around her feet darkened as it absorbed the expelled urine. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bulma realized that she had just pissed herself twice in two days.

“WooHoo,” the old man shouted. “A bonus show!”

Bulma ignored him. Despite being cool outside, droplets of sweat dotted her brow and legs and her breath came in sharp gasps. She was wearing herself out trying to take a dump. But it was almost out. If she could get it to move a little more...

“NYYYYYGH!” Finally, the mass began moving of it's own accord. Bulma sighed and let nature take it's course.

The huge mass slid from her parted cheeks, crackling loudly as it emerged. Her panties were loose, so the poop didn't smash between the cotton and her legs. Rather, the material sagged to allow the waste more room.

Bulma felt the mess nestling in a ball between her thighs. Her underwear inflated like a balloon to accommodate it and she felt them start to slip under the weight. She yanked the pajamas around and tucked them under her chin then gripped her panties' waistband with both hands. She had a feeling if she didn't the weight of her crap would tug them down.

But now that the panties were not sagging farther, the poop began piling up inside them. Bulma felt the heap crawling upward, mashing between her butt cheeks and the cotton wall of her underwear. Until, finally, the mess had nowhere else to go and began bursting from the leg holes and falling to the ground with loud plops. An audible, airy fart consummated the dump and Bulma allowed herself a sigh of relief.

She let her pajamas fall and cover her full, brown panties. They dropped about an inch when she let them go, but the waistband caught her flared hips and kept them from hitting the ground. Slowly, she turned back to the old man. His beard was spattered with blood and the red fluid dripped freely from his nose.

“Good enough,” she asked.

“Yes, yes! Take the ball,” he said joyously. He offered Bulma the orange Dragon Ball and the shame of pooping and peeing herself diminished.

“Thanks a lot, old man,” she said as she carefully waddled to a bush. Cleaning up her mess would be a nightmare, but it was worth it. She was one step closer to her perfect boyfriend.